


Better

by PaleGlow



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Anger, F/F, POV Second Person, Power Struggle, brief discussion of sex, lack of consent in nonsexual context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:37:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6685846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleGlow/pseuds/PaleGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short drabble I worked on to explore Malachite from Jasper's perspective (since I've already written for Lapis some time ago). This was originally intended as a third chapter to Break Through, but it seems to work better as a standalone, follow-up piece (written in second person POV).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks go to Razorvixen (on tumblr), and to Tat (Tat_Tat here on AO3) for reading over this and offering their input prior to publication.

Pressure.

Darkness.

No way out.

You’re staying on this miserable planet forever.

Aren’t you?

Of course you are.

And you will be like this forever, too—raging against nothingness.

Red-faced, fearful, screaming fury in the face of cool, dispassionate neutrality. Helpless to fight against this force of nature. Feeling feeble and forsaken, powerless, and yet held always steady by the water pressing down on all sides.

Her dead, blue-black eyes stared into the raw, open abscess of your emotion and torment, and reflected nothing. You can’t seem to get the look in her eyes out of your own head: blackness and depth and danger beneath it all. It’s a little terrifying and it’s all you can think of, and you’re struggling to get free of it, but you can’t.

You can’t.

You can’t.

You can’t escape those dead black eyes, and you can’t forget those soft blue lips, either, and you’re not sure which you want more… or which you want less. She maintains a stoic, straight-backed determination while she holds you down, and the fact that it barely seems to cost her a lick of effort makes you insane with rage and envy. If only you could hold onto yourself so steadily in the face of this onslaught with such apparent ease. It isn’t really fair, is it?

She lied to you. She lied about everything, and the worst part of all, worse even than being trapped here now, is the fact that she lied about what she was, and you believed it the whole way down. You fell for it all. You took her for a Gem with true feelings, and even though you could sense the danger—you could _smell_ the aggression lurking behind that demure little face waiting for its chance to strike—you really believed it when she said she cared about you.

You let her make you believe that she would never hurt you. You let her trick you into thinking that, despite all the damage she tried to hide, she was still good at her core.

Now you see what she really is.

...

Pressure.

Darkness.

No way out.

Why would you want to leave?

This is home now.

Of course it is.

But that doesn’t mean it has to be bad. That doesn’t mean it has to hurt.

Embrace the rage. Don’t resist it; allow it to consume you. There’s never been a reason to fight against your nature. On the battlefield, it keeps you going, doesn’t it? You know the difference between submitting to tactical wisdom and barreling headlong into the fray, and you’ve always prided yourself on knowing when to choose which path.

You know the look of fear in an enemy’s eyes when she sees you coming, and it’s so much sweeter than the smug look of pride when she watches you stand down. The fear is how you know you’ve already won. You can even imagine that life-affirming look of dread taking over those dead blue eyes of hers. You wonder if it would be real—unable to forget the lies and deceit, even in your own personal fantasies. Even when you control the outcome in your own mind, even when you’re imagining her helpless in your hands, you stop to ponder the reality. How many soft sighs of pleasure were forced through clenched teeth in falsehood? How many tremulous little moans were rehearsed and performed to earn your trust through those manipulations?

She lied.

You fell for it.

She lied to you, and you, like a fool, thought she would take your side. Battered, bruised, and near defeat, you looked to her for help and she gave you these chains. And now she watches you suffer, hears your pleas, and gives you no mercy.

Why should you hold back for her sake?

Give in to the rage and the fear, and let her betrayal fuel the hurt that gives birth to your powerful, destructive force of anger. It’s time to let it in.

Malachite.

That’s the name of this new kind of rage you’re feeling.

What an incredible relief it is to let her in. Like water finally bursting through a sagging dam, she floods into you and fills the empty spaces. Where the fires of your rage still burn, you feel her warming up—not extinguishing your flames, but rather embracing them—and where the pain of hurt and betrayal still stings, you feel her presence soothing, cool and complete, and just the perfect thing.

It’s so much better this way.


End file.
